Batman: Year One
by x-dude
Summary: A story of how the legendary Batman came to be, Bruce Wayne and his early days of fighting crime


Prologue 

A dark and stormy night, rain poured through the blackness. The water spattered the concrete sidewalk winding down a long street, wind blew littered pieces of trash through alleyways. There was a loud clash of thunder, followed by a flash of lightening, illuminating the sky. In the background, tall skyscrapers rose high above all, peaking up at the thundering masses. Gothic landscapes ominously towered over the city, they're features standing out in the bright, electric capes of light. 

The sound of footsteps surprisingly came above the noises, three figures emerged from the front of a nearby building. A family of three ran out into the pounding rain, they struggled to shield themselves. Wearing a gold encrusted ring wrapped around a sapphire diamond, Thomas led his family through the darkness. He helped his wife Martha, and son Bruce under a kiosk. The family was apparently quite wealthy, Martha wore a crystal-laced necklace ringed around her slender neck. She held her young son's hand and kept him close to her body. 

Sure is stormy, isn't it?" Thomas said worriedly. 

"Yes, let's get to the car quick before we catch a cold" his wife replied.

They quickened the pace and Martha took little Bruce's hand. 

"Daddy, why is our car back here?" Bruce squeaked in his tiny sweet voice.

"The darn front lot was totally full, place is crowded like hell"

"Tom, don't say that in front of your son" Martha nagged. 

Like every other wife in a man's eyes, Martha was a woman of values who disliked anything remotely related to swearing, among other things such as cigarettes and weapons. Thomas indulges her when he has the energy. 

"I'll say, Martha, you worry too much" 

"Oh, you hush" 

He chuckled joyfully, despite the dreary surroundings enveloping them. Although the rain had slowed a little, it wasn't quite a nice place to be. Steam rose from manholes, creating a layer in the air of dense fog, the view ahead wasn't great. Silence fell over the alley, a creepy silence. The only sound making it's presence was the tap of rain dropping from rooftops. 

"It sure is spooky back..."

The sound of a gun cock pierced the night air in a sudden bang, the family went still and the mother halted her voice as a shadow formed in the shine of a corner street light. 

"What the...!" an expression of horror quickly ran over Tom's face. The umbrella fled from his grip. 

From out of the fog, a hand appeared, it's fingers gripped around a silver-handled pistol. The shape of a man made it's way into the family's sight. The mother gaped in terror at the gun pointed at them. Evil grin; maniacal eyes - the eyes of a killer, a murderer. These are the eyes of the person before them, they glinted mysteriously in the moonlight. 

"What is the meaning of...?!" Martha was shocked at the instant.

"Shut it, lady!" the man snapped.

All three go quiet, holding their hands in the air as the man gestured with his gun to do so in a jabbing motion. A devilish smirk widened with his mouth, revealing a golden capped tooth, sticking out like a sore thumb. Sadness welled up in Bruce's bright blue eyes, which don't seem so bright now. A single tear streamed down his cheek slowly, Bruce sniffled and looked up at the man in a little boy's fear. 

"Don't worry, son, everything will be..."

"You shut it too!" 

Tom stood with anger, his eyes show it. 

"What do you want?" he asked 

The man's grin got bigger, a grin of pure hate that only a devil could surmise. Bruce sniffled again, he held tight to his mother's coat, arms wrapped around her waist in comfort. 

"Don't cry, Bruce, it'll be..."

"That's your little boy, eh?" the man smiles in evil. 

Martha is speechless, she can see the impatience building in the killer in front of her, his voice burst in a wail of frustration. 

"ANSWER ME!" 

Martha jumped in shock. 

"Yes!"

The man's expression turned back to amusement. He peered down at little Bruce with a smirk of pleasure. Martha pulled him back slightly, fearful of what the man would do. A burst of anger once again. 

"Don't back him away from ME!" 

Martha and Thomas breathed heavily, frightened. The man bent down to face Bruce up close, his eyes are like a fierce cat's glowing in the dark. 

"Are you scared, little boy?" 

Bruce just stood there, shaking. Nothing but quiet, the soft fall of rain the only sound. The man softly squeezed the boy's chin, pulling his face closer

"Are you scared?!" 

He just nodded silently.

"Well you should be" The man whispered ominously. He straightened up, looking over the three family members, pathetic in his eyes. He took a few steps toward Martha, pressed his body against hers. Still a snicker of amusement in his eyes, he traced the end of his gun across her cheek. 

"What do you say, miss..."

"Tom..." 

Her husband just huddled against a wall beside her, nothing he can do when the man is armed with a gun. The hood ran his fingers down Martha's neck, and down along her chest. She tried to lean her head back as he inched his forward, his hot breath welting on her. Thomas spoke up. 

"Who do you think you are anyway?" 

The hood turned to Thomas, brow furrowed. His hand quickly flew through the air and came across Tom's face hard, slapping him. 

"Argh! 

The man chuckled and faced Martha again, licking his lips disgustingly. He sneered down at her neck, eyes blazing in the moonlight. 

"Please...don't, we'll do whatever you want!" 

"Ha! Right, the plead of sorrow" the man chuckled to himself. 

He peered again at Martha's soft neck and noticed something. Something shining a bright crystal blue - her diamond necklace. 

"Well, well, well...what do we have here, miss?" 

"Don't, I beg you!" 

"Oh, does this little number hold a special place in your heart?"

The man taunted Martha, he thumbed his fingers over the jewelry, absolutely entranced with it. 

"What is this, my dear?" 

"It's...a..."

"Yes?" The hood twirled his tongue between his teeth, saliva drooled in and out like some circulatory system of spit running through the gaps between those yellowish white bone extensions. He gripped the necklace and ripped it off her neck. 

"Diamonds I presume? You and your husband are quite the wealthy people" 

"It's just a diamond" 

"Yes, but a very rare one, am I correct?" 

"Why are you doing this?" 

He paid no attention to Martha now, the man just held the necklace up in the streetlight. He examined it's features carefully and eyed it, evidently the hood seemed a little of an expert with diamonds perhaps. 

"You some sick expert on them or something?" Martha wondered. 

"Maybe, you could say that" 

He looked back at Martha, then to Tom huddling against a wall. Surprisingly he's been quiet for a long while one would think. 

"The perfect jewel...I'll take this, thank you very much" 

The man backed up a bit and held the gun up higher, amidst the surrounding steam. The rain which had pounded earlier now was at a light sprinkle. He peered over the family, Bruce still grabbed at his mother's pant leg, scared. Thomas glared angrily at the hood. 

"What?! Angry?" 

The man snickered. Tom held up his hand slowly and pointed at him with a finger. 

"You got what you want...now get the hell away from my family!" 

"Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!" the man laughed mockingly at him. He walked toward him and looked into his eyes face to face. The eyes of evil peered into the eyes of good, opposite forces clashed. 

"I don't think so, old man" the hood whispered in Tom's ear frighteningly. He looked down at the gold ring on the father's hand. 

"Well, another priceless commodity for me!" he said joyfully for himself. 

"How many carrots would you say, Tom?" 

Tom gasped in a low tone, who is this man and how... 

"How the hell do you know my name?!" 

The man gritted his teeth together, a faint grinding sound of them as he smirked aimlessly. All of this was just amusement for him. 

"I know all of your names" 

"How? Who are you?!" 

The hood rubbed his hands together gleefully, he seemed to be enjoying every minute of the chaos he has created in this small alleyway.

"That is for me to know...and for all of you, never to find out" 

Tom glowered at the man, wrath in his heart for this disgrace of a human being in their presence. 

"I'd say this was real gold, wouldn't you, Tommy?" 

"Don't call me that" 

"Ha! You sound like a little boy being teased by a bully" he held up Thomas' hand and pulled the ring off roughly. The man studied it like he did with the necklace, which in the meanwhile he curled over to fit around his neck. 

"Yes, you are quite the rich folk this city is infested with" 

"Give me...back...the ring" 

The killer, a name that so rightfully fits this ghastly man, looked back at the father of this family he has imprisoned with his evil. He slid the ring on one finger and raised his pistol up. 

"You know what, I don't have time for snobbish ingrates like you" 

"And I don't have time for murderous low-lifers like YOU!" 

In a second, ferocity of utmost grim filled the killer's expression, like an explosion of fire with a cloud of wickedness. 

BANG! 

A gunshot rang the muteness with a bam of fury. The bullet made it's way in a straight line of swift motion and cut into Tom's chest like a needle. A speck of blood flew from the wound and plopped on Bruce's shirt collar. He looked down at it with sadness. Tom fell back from the impact and hit the ground hard

"Nooooooo! Martha screamed and ran to her husband's side. 

"Daddy!" Bruce cried, following behind his mother. He crawled to his father, tears pouring from his little face. 

"Bruce, get out of here!" his mother warned. "Get out here, son, NOW!" 

"DADDY!" 

"GO!" 

Bruce, unsure of what to do, still obeyed his mom and ran. As fast as he could, young Bruce ran crying. His thin legs stomping the wet pavement, puddles splashed up in front of him. Another gunshot rang behind Bruce, aimed at him, but it missed. It ricocheted off a metal trash can and went off in the air. 

Back in the alley, Martha cried alongside her husband. He lied on the street, pelted by the now hardening rain. Martha's tears are lost in the streams of rainwater.

"How could you?!" 

"I'm a killer, miss...what do you think?" 

"You don't have a damn heart, that's what!" 

"I'd be careful about what you say, Martha" he scowled at her. 

On the ground, Thomas choked for air, unable to move his open mouth. He coughed at the rain falling through his lips. The water dripping from them began to take on a red tint, blood mixed with the rain on his face. Another cough, blood spewed. 

"Tom..." his wife whispered, she sniffled with sadness in her eyes. But the sadness turned quickly to pure anger and she glared up at the murderer towering over her. The black trench coat he wore swayed in the soft wind. A blind wave of hate swept over Martha's face, ready to explode. 

"HOW COULD YOU?!" 

Martha jumped up in anger at ran at the man, swinging her arms relentlessly. Crying, she pushed him and he stumbled back. However, it wasn't long until the next gunshot came. It shot forward with unstoppable speed and pierced Martha at the head. A rain of not water, but blood, fell down into the alley puddles. 

She slumped to the ground beside her husband, who was now dead, eyes fixed wide open. Rain washed the wound's blood down her neck. No more was there the beat of Martha's heart, a quicker death than Tom's. The killer stood over them, not a trace of regret in any part of his cynical melon people call a face. Then, his figure slowly disappeared into the shadows, the body fading in the weathered fog. 

Then came a scream. Little Bruce ran out from his hiding place, crying. He fell next to his parents, lying there dead in the soaked land. They're clothes drenched in the striking moisture pummeling the city. 

"Nooooooo...DADDY, MOMMY!" 

Bruce's head lowered onto his father's stomach, bawling, he borrowed his nose into Thomas' jacket. Although the wail of police sirens could be heard in the distance, Bruce's cries faded as the weather drowned them out. Nothing but the steady clam of thunder. 

The gray descent of rain fell upon a crowd circled in a cemetery. Drops tapped from the limbs of trees scattered through the yard. Men and women held umbrellas to dry themselves, they're tears washed with the rain. A funeral. 

"Today we are here to mourn the deaths of two..." a priest stood beside two polished coffins, being lowered into a muddy pit. Puddles of brown water swished below as they placed down into the dug hole. 

"Their names were respected among the people of this city, they led a good life with a loving son..." in the crowd, little Bruce huddled with sorrowness tearing the atmosphere. A funeral for his parents. His eyes were bloodshot, red with sadness, but burrowed deep in his mind and heart...there was a flick of ultimate anger. A certain vengeance that could not be broken. The thought that he could not stop that horrible excuse of a man. A hand squeezed Bruce's shoulder in comfort, a man behind him held up an umbrella over the both of them. Quietly, Bruce whispered to himself, voice hoarse. 

"Why?" 

The priest continued his eulogy. 

"Both of them will be sorely missed" 

Each person began to walk by the coffin, paying their condolences. Some people tossed flowers, the beautiful pink and red pedals shined with dew. Fall leaves drifted with the solemn rain to the ground. Bruce came by with a flower, his whole a body a cloud of black garment. He wiped at hot tears. 

"Why?" he whispered again hoarsely, and then walked off, followed by his guardian. A shot of thunder rang as the usual funeral music chimed through the morning air. 

Chapter 1 

Heavy breathing, sweat flew left and right. A fist swung in motion, scathed the edge of a man's cheek. Blood ran from a cut. A leg kicked out at a muscular stomach, blows to the chest. The on and off gasp of a person panting, two eyes stared into each other. Two men fought in arm and arm, leg and leg combat. Martial arts skills are evident, roundhouses and uppercuts, backhands and headlocks. All is used - the foot, the hand, the knee, the elbow. However, it is obvious the battle is not to the death, but merely practice, sparring of some sort. Groans escaped from each of their mouths as they were hit with brute force. Body heat filled the air uncomfortably. 

Both men staggered and stumbled from the blows, although only a practice, they were real. The taller one took a trip to the shin and sweat sprung from his body as he hit the padded floor. A loud clap echoed through the room, an elderly Japanese man sat cross legged a short distance away from the combatants, who have halted their battle. 

"Very good" he exclaimed, with a smile. 

Bruce stood over his defeated opponent, surveying his work, and then with a hand helped him up to his feet. 

"You've improved greatly, my son" Chang said, standing up to pat his students on the back. Bruce and Ken were his proteges, and he was surprised to see that a man such as Ken, who grew up learning in the Asian arts, had been defeated by another man who only began training a few years ago. Bruce was most assuredly a great fighter, the greatest Chang had seen in decades. 

"Here, hit the showers and we'll talk" Chang handed a small towel to Bruce and Ken to wipe themselves off with. They walked off into the locker rooms and Chang grinned after them, looking over the apprentices he has taught so well. 

Bruce rubbed a large shower towel in his hair, trying to dry it. His silky brown hair flung in directions. Muscles pulsed in his forearms, quite matured for a young man in his early twenties. He sighed and walked through a maze of long hallways, the multi-colored intricate designs washed on the walls indicated a Japanese-style building. But to Bruce it wasn't just a building, it was what he had called home for three years. 

Throughout that time he had been a student of the aged and experienced Chang, a man of great knowledge and strength. Bruce trained under his guidance, learning every form of Chinese and Japanese self-defense known to man. Although he had gotten better each day, Bruce still knew many years were ahead of him to fully master every aspect of what he hoped to make him a warrior. 

Bruce strolled and took a turn into a small room, the bedroom which he had been sleeping in his whole duration in the dojo. A small bed made low to the floor stood at one side of the room, sheets and covers neatly pulled up and folded. Bruce was use to keeping a tidy area for himself, having grown up as a child with strict parents, he became a young man who respected his elders and kept an organized bedroom not to mention organized mind. He was always interested in solving mysteries or doing detective work, and we was good at it to boot. Bruce sat on his bed tiredly. Fighting in practice wore one out, even with a hot shower afterwards, the rush of throwing punches and kicks constantly and trying to keep up with your opponent took it out of you. Chang was a rough teacher, but always considered his students' health. He had not only taught them of self-defense but of health and physical fitness as well, which Bruce was very well of keeping up with. With a bench-press of 210 lbs. and a mile run time of 1:02, he was assuredly in shape. 

Brown bangs draped on his forehead, little collections of water accumulated in his hair. He ran one hand through it with a sigh and flicked his eyes in one direction. On a small bedside table was a picture frame of a man and woman happily in each other's arms--Bruce's parents. Looking of joy and absolute love in this certain photo, he knew it was only a past remnant of what is gone. And what IS gone? Perhaps the happiness he once held as a child, or thoughts of those two people being alive. Yes, all that was gone now...the brightness that at one time shined in his life...all of it had disappeared forever. 

Bruce took the picture in his arms, handling it delicately. He obviously cared much for it, he ran his fingers over the frame. A single tear welled in the depths of his brown eye, piercing with deep thought and intelligence. What may he be intelligent of? Most definantly martial arts, but what else could've been hiding in that mind of darkness? 

A sad mood ruled over Bruce's whole state of being. Why? he thought, why did they have to leave him during a crucial point of his childhood? 

"Can I come in?" a voice interrupted the silence.

Bruce jerked his head quickly at the doorway, there stood Chang with a warm smile.

"Sure, yeah...come in" Bruce motioned, setting the picture back down on the table. Chang hobbled over, his foot seemingly in a bit of pain. 

"What's wrong" Bruce asked with concern. 

"Oh, it's nothing. Just getting a little old is all" 

"You sure?" 

"Yeah...a small sprain practicing yoga" 

Bruce chuckled softly, he noticed that Chang had been getting older. Suddenly the wrinkles on his cheeks stood out, the dark circles under his eyes entering Bruce's knowledge. Never before had he realized that Chang was reaching an old age. 

"Wow" Bruce said. Chang sat on the bed beside him. 

"Wow, what?" 

"I don't know...this is the first time I've ever seen how..." 

"How old I am?" Chang said with a grin. 

"Yeah, I guess"

Chang rubbed his neck and rolled it, faintly the sounds of old bones and worn muscles creaked as he stretched. A yawn escaped his chapped lips, Chang was an old man, and it came as a shock to Bruce. Bruce who had looked up to this man as a superior person, one who was stronger, smarter, a teacher of his who had experience. 

"I am an old man, Bruce, except it...I have" 

"But, you're...I just can't believe all this time I didn't notice" Bruce peered on in space with bewilderment. Still everything was a shock. 

"I'm sixty-four, it was bound to catch up with you" 

"Huh" Bruce shook his head. The thought of being more agile and stronger than his teacher was somewhat strange. 

"What now, then?" 

Chang bites his lip, scratching his chin thoughtfully. 

"Well...I don't know, think about it" 

A pause of silence. Bruce stared into Chang's eyes, trying to pry what thoughts are swirling in that complex mind. 

"I believe it is time"

"Time for what?" Bruce said, eying Chang still. 

"For you to move on, my son" 

"What?!" Bruce replied, shocked about his master's answer. 

"I have taught you everything there is to know...it's time for you to move on, you're at the pinnacle of your strength. Strength of mind, body, and character...those three are what make a warrior, Bruce" 

"But..." 

"I know you're really happy inside, it's just a shock to you, am I right?" 

"Yeah, but...I don't know" Bruce hung his head low, brow furrowed in wonder. 

"Exactly...you know, Bruce, you never did tell me what all this was for" 

"What was for?" 

"Oh, don't play dumb" Chang shook his head with a smirk. "The training...why you traveled the world for seven years just to learn every single form of self-defense known to humanity?" 

Silence, a long penetrating silence as Bruce thought deeply into his heart. Then he said

"We all have our secrets, Chang" 


End file.
